The Detective
by notmyname0123456789
Summary: Yes. Hello. This is the story of an agent who failed to believe he did not make it into the CIA. He thought he made it into the agency, when, he really did not. For he is crazy. The End. Or is it...


Before you read this story, I thought you might want to know a little about it before you read it. In every office, school, hospital, or practically any place of business there is that… unique person. This person does things no one can explain for absolutely no reason. These antics can seem completely normal in his/her eyes but queer in ours. We probably raise our eyebrows or turn our shopping carts around and go down another isle. But, then again; these odd misbehaviors could be just as weird to them as they are to us. Or maybe, everything we do is upside down…

_That_ Guy

"Yeah. I'm here, I just saw him walk in… well I don't care Johnson!" The detective yelled into his phone. "Look, if I don't go inside now… Yeah? ... I got it right here." The smartly dressed man looks down at the grocery bag at his feet and takes a big, greasy looking black wig out of it and fits it onto his head. "Yes Johnson," The man drolled on. "I've been undercover before. … Johnson?" There was silence on the other end of the line like when he started his conversation. "Johnson? JOHNSON! Answer me, Johnson!" The detective grit his teeth and pushed his finger against his non-existent earpiece. "Men, we've been compromised."

The detective walked into the diner and found a nice small booth against the right wall of the building. He wiggles against the worn leather making it squeak and squeal, attracting a few curious glances. When he's finally comfy he picks up the menu, with the rustic looking meals, and runs his finger down it, reading each option. He looks up, and sees a handful of waitresses running around with jumbotron-sized platters, a busboy wiping a table down for the next customer, and a toddler repeatedly throwing his spoon out his highchair.

The boy's mother sighs and picks it up once more to place it out of reach, but decides to give it back when the toddler begins to cry. The detective smiles and continues to lookover his menu. When he knows what he wants he looks up to call a waitress over, but remembers something. '_I'm undercover. This is no time for grits and bacon. … Hhhm, grits and bacon.' _The detective's stomach rumbles. '_Well you have to act the part to be the part. And this mission_ **is**_ very important. So someone can't make any mistakes in my sort of predicament. Which means,' _The detective looks up and makes sure no one can hear what he's thinking. '_Which means I'll probably have to get the sausage gravy biscuit with a glass of tomato juice too.' _

Before he can order, a clatter draws the diner's attention to the center of the restaurant. Apparently, the little toddler boy didn't like blue crayons and to show his hatred for the color, he tugged the tablecloth off the table, causing all the glasses to break. One of the waitresses started to pick the mess up.

"It happens a lot, ma'am. It's all right. Tell you what," The waitress brought up her apron to make a slight pouch of it to put the bits of broken glass in. "I'll getcha a whole new breakfast! How's that sound?" But before the mother could say anything, the waitress leaves in a hurry to make the new order.

The detective checks his timepiece and drums his fingers on the table. But he catches something from the corner of his eye. The waitress is coming back with a large platter held above her head. He quickly sees that she will have to pass his booth to get to the middle table with the cocky toddler.

As she passed, the detective saw his opportunity. He grabbed the waitress' arm and said; "Can you point me to the bathroom?" This motion caused her to drop the order she was carrying and spill everything.

"Thanks a lot mister!" She snapped.

"Anytime." The detective said with smile. "Just doing my job ma'am. Yes," He stood up and stepped over the mess. "It can be hard for others to concentrate when they see my chiseled features and large biceps." He tries to flex his 'muscles' and succeeds in his own eyes. "So try to be a little more careful next time, huh?" He pats her shoulder and moves to the rear of the diner. He walked around and finally found the bathroom. He adjusts his coat sleeves and pushes the door open.

When he walked into the room he holds up two fingers and moves them from his forehead, out. In a sort of greeting gesture. But at the sight of him, he accidently scared a few women primping at the sink.

"Ladies. I think you're in the wrong room."

They replied by shrieking and running out the swinging pink door. The man then climbed up onto a toilet and hoisted himself onto the top of a stall. He squeezed himself out the window and dusted off his pants when he stood up off the ground.

"Johnson," The detective held a finger to his non-existent earpiece once again. " He just switched positions. I need to change characters again."

He then took off his wig, threw it back into the women's room, and took a false mustache from his back pocket. He applied the false mustache and proceeded to walk into the diner across the street.


End file.
